


Morning Glory

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, M/M, Other, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley wakes early; Aziraphale watches him worry.





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on Tumblr: https://ineffably-angsty.tumblr.com/post/186667126076/honestly-i-love-all-the-fic-with-aziraphale
> 
> With apologies if anyone finds the pronoun usage in this fic inappropriate; I decided to change them when Aziraphale gets his first big hint that Crowley might be planning to change them.

It’s very, very early in the morning, and Aziraphale hasn’t admitted to being awake yet; he cracks one eye open to watch Crowley, wondering why on Earth the demon is already up. And, more to the point, what he’s doing.

He’s been watching for five minutes or so, now, waiting for his brain to wake up, and for the whole of that time Crowley has been standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, frowning at his own ribcage. As Aziraphale looks on, he presses shaking hands to his slim waist, his sharp hips, and hisses discontentedly. Aziraphale idly considers the possibility of going over there and replacing the demon’s hands with his own, drawing out a different sort of hiss, but there’s something wild and unhappy in the demon’s movements that gives him pause. He looks like a caged animal; perhaps it’s time he shed his skin again. Aziraphale has no way to tell, except perhaps to observe.

Crowley glances over his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to notice that the angel is awake. Satisfied that he hasn’t moved, the demon turns back to the mirror and shifts. One moment, there’s a delectable-looking man in front of the mirror; the next, a woman so slender she looks as though she could be made of gossamer. Crowley regards her new form with the same suspicion she gave the previous one; her hands run over her jutting collarbones, over small, shapely breasts and down to that waist, still so narrow. Her hips are a little wider, and she treats them to a tiny, sad little smile, but all in all she still seems miserable. Aziraphale can’t stand it any longer.

“You’re beautiful, dear.”

Crowley whirls round as if burned, hands coming up to cover her chest, and Aziraphale remembers, too late, the wary look she’d given him before changing.

“You’re awake.”

“And you’re enchanting.” He gestures for her to sit on the bed beside him, and she does, pulling a pillow in front of herself and hugging it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. Is this… will you be keeping this shape, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Crowley sighs. “I thought it might help, I thought maybe that was the problem, but… I just don’t feel good about myself.”

“But my dear, you’re perfect. In whatever form you choose.”

“I’ve never been… this… with you. _ With _ you, I mean.”

“I assure you, it doesn’t change my feelings towards you in the slightest.”

“I don’t know if I’ll stick with it. ‘She’ pronouns for now, though? I do feel good about ‘she’ pronouns.”

“Of course, my dear, if that’s what you want.”

“I _ want _a better body.”

Aziraphale looks at her as if she’s just come out with the most ridiculous nonsense, because of course she has.

“Your body is wonderful, Crowley - and not just because it has _ you _in it.” He reaches out, ignoring the pillow she’s still hiding behind, and touches her cheek. “What’s troubling you?”

“I- just-” She throws away the pillow - with more bravado than pride, Aziraphale thinks - and gestures down at herself. “Look at me.”

“I am. I _ will _,” Aziraphale tells her, and lets his eyes roam. He takes in the dainty waist, the narrow shoulders, the long arms and legs that so often seem completely foreign to Crowley’s body, even after all these years. “If you let me, I would never stop looking at you, Crowley.”

“But I’m- and the _ clothes _\- and-” She stops, as if frantically searching for words, and finds Aziraphale’s eyes instead.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more to go on, dear.”

“You’re so _ soft _ .” It doesn’t sound like an insult when she says it. It sounds _ reverent _ . “You’re so lovely and rounded and soft, and then there’s me, all sharp and about to snap any moment, and nothing I do seems to make it _ better. _ ” She gestures downwards again. “I thought, you know, wider hips, women, more padding up top, but no. No, of course not. And then - and then there’s _ padding _ . Remember when everyone used to pad their clothes? Not that you ever had to, you’re just perfect like that, but back in the day nobody cared if you stuffed your bodice and padded out your hose. Nobody cared if you wore loose clothing. It was all part of the fashion, making myself look like a _ proper _ person. Not a stick. Now…” She shudders. “Skinny jeans. I wish I’d never even taken the credit for them. So _ clingy _. Nowhere to hide all these… bones.”

“Crowley.” He gathers the demon into his arms. “I happen to _ love _ those bones. And being slim is even in fashion these days, you know! Once again, I’m behind the times, but you… you don’t even realise how the humans look at you in the street, do you?”

Crowley nods miserably. “Like they want to smite me.”

“Like they _ want _you. But they can’t have you. Because you and your perfect body are mine, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says, because Aziraphale sees the argument coming and squeezes her just a little tighter to cut her off. And then, a little gruffly, “this body alright for you?”

“Oh, _really,_ what did I just-? Oh. You mean the, ah, femininity.”

“If you want to call it that, yeah." Her voice takes on a sultry tone. "If, you know, if you wanted to, er...”

“Jump your bones?” Aziraphale teases, and Crowley glares at him. She really is most stunning when she glares. “Happy to, my dear.”

Later, they lie together and gaze into one another’s eyes, the way Crowley always laughs at other people for doing. The sun is rising, and the light filtering through the curtains affords Aziraphale the most incredible view of his demon, somewhat changed from the previous night, but still unmistakably his Crowley, the beautiful, perfect, love of his life.

“I feel a bit better,” Crowley admits, “when you look at me like that.”

“Crowley, my dear, I always look at you like that.”

“Then maybe one day I’ll believe it,” Crowley tells him, “that I’m attractive.”

“I’ll keep reminding you,” Aziraphale promises, and they both decide there's no hurry to get out of bed.


End file.
